The Victim
by Atheer Asad
Summary: Sam has just moved in to the blue creek apts..... what's awaiting him? Plz review!


The taxi cab stopped in front of the apartment building and Sam got down, carrying his bags

**The Victim**

The taxicab stopped in front of the apartment building and Sam got down, carrying his bags. The first thing he did was taking an examining, comprehensive look around him. It was an ordinary residential area of an urban type. Several high buildings were in the same street. The top of a large tourist's hotel, which was still covering the sun of the early morning, stood several blocks away. He raised his eyes to read the sign "Blue Creek Apartment Building". A young boy was sitting near the entrance. Once he saw Sam, he jumped up and came toward him. Without a word, he took the bags from him and rushed inside. Sam walked in after him.

"He's here, Mr. Berry!" The boy said in a loud voice, and a tall, middle-aged man with black glasses came out from what looked like a small office, which was beside the stairs in the reception lobby. Sam was there the night before, making the necessary arrangements to rent an apartment.

"It seems much older in the daylight…" he thought as he looked at the walls and the ceiling.

"Hello Mr., everything is ok and you will hopefully enjoy your stay." said the man.

"Hopefully…"

"To 310!" the man ordered the boy who was climbing the stairs with the bags. "The elevator is broken, sorry…"

"No problem, I'm fine with the stairs." Sam said, following the boy.

The room was on the third floor, at the end of the corridor. The building was definitely not modern but it met Sam's needs. The boy unlocked the door, took the bags inside and put the key on the table. Sam tipped him and then became alone. His eyes wandered throughout the place. It was not well-equipped, but he didn't care and began to unpack his clothes.

At ten o'clock that night, Sam returned from work and entered the apartment building. The lobby was dead quiet and no one was there. He went to check the elevator first.

"Thank God… they fixed it."

The stairs sounded such a long way to him at that moment. When he got into the elevator, he found that there were three floors and a basement, so he pressed number three. He entered the apartment, quickly took a shower and then went to lie on bed, since he had dined at work. He turned the TV on and started to switch channels.

"Boring… boring… more boring!" he said as the channels were changing. Just then, he saw something strange. "This channel has a modified name in the list… somebody must have renamed it." The name was '_look under…_'. Sam was startled by it. "However, this is not complete." He entered the channel menu to get the full name. He read '_look under the closet_', then he stared at the screen for a while.

"Who wrote this? Is it a joke?" Sam got confused and he looked around. There was no closet but the one that he had put the clothes in, which was near him. Its base was resting directly on the floor, so it should be moved to find out what was under it. He lifted it and pulled it slightly aside, to reveal some folded papers thrown beneath it. Seeing that there was nothing more, he took the papers and pushed the closet back in place. "This is some kind of a diary…" Sam thought when he was flipping the pages. He read several lines.

April 3. My name is Tom Walters. I'm writing this, hoping that it may help anyone who would go through similar circumstances, or just take an interest in it. I had lived in this room, 310, for about three months…

Sam stopped. "This is the diary of a former occupier of this room… but there's no mention of the year." He lied back on bed. "Ok, let's see these…" and Sam continued to read.

I had lived in this room, 310, for about three months before a roommate, named Jim Simmons, joined me. We quickly became close friends, as we were of about the same age and hobbies. I actually liked the idea of having a partner in this lonely place. Days passed quietly. I work as a security guard in the Historical Society, which I'll describe in some detail. One night, I was standing alone, during my shift, near the entrance of the museum. It was shortly after midnight, and the street was unusually empty. I went to sit at my wooden chair, put my heavy stick beside me and took a cigarette out of my pocket. It was such a cold night and such a boring job, but surely well-paid. A little time later, I did my first tour that night. I walked into the first room and turned the lights on. It was small, L-shaped with a reception desk and led to two corridors, both of which had a raw of ancient artifacts and paintings on each wall. They were telling different stories about this town and its history. I entered one of the corridors. There were several pieces that belonged to the native inhabitants of the town, probably five hundred years old, in addition to some antique pictures that were shot in the last century to various sites of the town and its avenues, including an old elementary school, a large bridge and the first coal mine which was discovered here. Such a rich history for a town of this size. The end of the hallway was continuous with the large viewing hall. The latter contained more paintings of larger size and even of more value. Though I used to see those things nearly everyday, it was still kinda amusing to me. However, everything was fine. In fact, no case of a theft or a try to rob the Society has been recorded till now. Thieves were a rare thing to hear about. The viewing hall opened into two other rooms. I checked them and went back to the other corridor, which was fine too. Now, nothing was left but the basement. I unfastened the small side door and descended. Three or four rooms were down there, mainly used for the maintenance of the art pieces and storage of other ones. The first room was the store. It was filled with several large boxes which contained the works that were no more suitable for display. The second was the preparation room, in which drawings should be processed before they can be put on show. This room hardly ever came into actual use, since no new objects had been brought to the museum for a long time. I entered and switched the light. No light came on. Perhaps we, the security men, were the only people who visit this room anyway. I used my flashlight and started to look around. The signs of a quite abandoned place were obvious. Different tools and kits in their cases were stacked on some tables and the floor. As I was swinging the light, a veiled plate, which was resting on the wall, came into my sight. I was slightly startled.

"Is this a new painting?"

That was what I thought, and to make sure, I began to remove the sheet of cloth which was covering it. The features of an old drawing gradually appeared. It was the scene of a sole wooden small house from a distance. It was resting on the foot of a hill, which was looking over green meadows. Red stains, in a line, spread throughout some area of the grass, deforming its beauty. With a closer look, I was able to see a figure of a man lying near the stains. He was seemingly dead.

"Oh, Jeeze…"

The red stains ought to be the man's blood. He was lying with his eyes open. One of them was entirely white. It was a disturbing scene in an odd way. I kept looking at the man's face, and for a second, I can swear that his head suddenly rose from the ground and I felt my pulse pounding. At that moment, I heard a voice from behind.

"So you like these stuff?"

I turned around to see one of my colleagues.

"Maybe…" I took a glance at the painting again and there was just the lying body. I internally laughed at myself.

"Is this a new painting?" I asked him.

"Yes, they brought it this morning. It was made more than a century ago, they say. As you can see, it symbolizes the horridness of the civil war."

"Aha… I got it." He was right. The farm, the dead man and the blood… the farmer must have been murdered during those dark days. "Is it a real scene?"

"Everything you can imagine might have taken place in that war, Tom, so this could be real as well."

"Then it should have been a disaster to this farmer's poor family. I wonder where they found it…" I put the cloth back on the drawing and went toward my mate. "The lights here need to be fixed."

"I know. They simply don't mind it." I shut the door and we walked away.

I arrived at my apartment at about 3 a.m. Jim was asleep. I couldn't sleep until 5 in the morning, mostly because of the painting. Ugly pictures of the war were relentlessly haunting my mind, in addition to the scene of the deformed farm and the one-eyed farmer. Civil war is absolutely the cruelest monster that can ever exist. The day after was my off-day, so I woke up almost at noon. Jim was still at work, as usual, and I began to make a simple breakfast. Jim came back about an hour later. He seemed quite exhausted.

"Hi Tom…"

"Hey, man… what's up? You look awful."

"Work." His answer did not satisfy me. He took a bath and then headed toward his bedroom.

"Come on Jim…"

"Sorry. I'm kinda tired… I'm gonna have a nap."

"Won't you eat?"

"After the nap, maybe."

I looked at him with disbelief as he was entering his room. That was not his habit at all. He used to be active and funny all the time. Half an hour had passed before he came out again.

"Tom… I wanna tell you about something… I'm really losing my mind."

He was in a state of disturbance.

"Come on, what is it?"

"Well, it's rather embarrassing… anyway. Yesterday, I ran into an old friend of my late father. I was so delighted to see him, you know, because he used to visit us when I was a little kid, and just his face reminds me of that nice time. We talked for a while and then he mentioned that dad had gone through restless times especially during his last weeks in life. Actually, after dad had left us, contact with him was almost cut off and we no longer heard about him. About two years later, the news of his death reached us. He was found in his car, crashed against a tree on the streetside. I don't even know where the accident had taken place, but apparently there were no other cars involved. Maybe he was just drunk or had lost control, though it's a quite weak possibility. His friend told me he had found out something that changed him. My father discovered that his grandfather had taken part in the brutal slaughters of the civil war that stole the lives of many innocents, especially those poor rurals. He was very shocked by that and started acting strangely, according to his friend. Shortly after, the accident happened. The man didn't say it, but I instantly thought that there might be a connection between the two events, because my father is really a good driver and this thing, I don't know, could have driven him out of his mind… I just don't know what our fault is if one of our ancestors had done a terrible thing in his life!"

Jim was clearly agitated and kind of scared by that moment.

"You didn't hear the worst part yet… I had a nightmare yesterday… someone was after me… he appeared everywhere before my eyes and didn't let me go!"

"Do you know him?"

"I don't know… he was an old man with a hat like that of a farmer but his face was not clear…"

I felt my stomach turning.

"You mean that he was a farmer?"

"Yes… I'm gonna talk to my dad's friend again, and take better details… there is definitely something wrong with this matter."

"Ok… that's a good idea."

He stood up and went to change his clothes. That issue was obviously occupying his head. I don't know why I became so worried, especially when he talked about the farmer. Maybe because he brought back the image of the painting in my mind. Jim came out again, dressed up.

"I'm going." He said.

"Ok, just wait for me…"

"Tom, I wanna do this alone… if you don't mind."

That felt even worse for me.

"As you wish, Jim."

After he had gone, I just felt unsafe and choking. I did not like the idea of being alone in the apartment, so I decided to go out for a little while. I looked at people's faces in the streets. All of them sounded quiet and peaceful, just like this town. What for Heaven's sake could be the good outcome of killing each other? Suddenly, I bumped into a man.

"Sorry…" I said and raised my eyes to look at him. He was somewhat angry, and glanced back at me. It was only a second, but I was able to see that his left eye was missing. I was freaked out and stood frozen in the street. The man continued his way… I couldn't even call after him. I quickly took a bus back to the apartment. As soon as I entered my room, I lied down on the couch to catch my breath. The man's look was that of a dead one… so empty and so sharp. I didn't find a way to get the anxiety out of me and started to feel hopeless. I went to the kitchen to take a tranquilizer. Once I got in, something caught my attention. The flowers' vase… it was filled with a red fluid and the flowers were striated with the dark red color. I knew its smell… blood. I turned my eyes around, looking for an explanation, only to see our large kitchen knife, over the counter. The knife was completely stained with blood, which was dripping gradually from its edge. It shocked me, and I gazed helplessly at it. It was mind-stopping and did not make sense at all. However, nothing else had changed in the place. I instinctively washed the knife with water. I was still staring at the distorted flowers when Jim came back. I rapidly washed the vase because I did not want to tell him about it. When he saw me washing it he suddenly said "No Tom, that's a new combination for the flowers!"

"A combination??"

"It's a nutritional mixture for the flowers, they say that it makes them bloomy for a week."

"And how did the knife get it?"

"It just fell into the vase as I was opening the combination's bottle, why?"

"When did you put it?"

"Just after I had taken the bath this noon… didn't you see me?"

"No… I didn't…"

The scene of the dripping knife came before my eyes… what combination was that? I couldn't mistake the smell of blood… and how did he put it several hours ago and it was still dripping until that time? There was something unusual. Instead of arguing with him about that, I asked him what he had got about his father. His answer came in an encouraging tone.

"I met the man and he had a valuable information. There was a man haunting my father, who is definitely the same man that is haunting me now. My father had made a research about our ancestor and it turned out that he had participated in a massacre in this very town!"

"You mean here? In Silent Hill?"

"Yes, and he managed to locate the farm of the man who was haunting him, which is in the suburbs of Silent Hill. Look, it's all here in his notes…"

He gave me a classic notebook. I turned over its pages to see a lot of scrabbles and small maps.

"So?"

"So we are going right there tomorrow, Tom. We should clear things up. That farm belonged someday to the farmer who is torturing me now and who had tortured my dad before. Maybe the people there know about it. This thing is running in our family, and there must be a solution."

He said that with apparent confidence, which made me reluctant to tell him about the blood and the man of the street. I thought it might worsen the situation, which has just got a little better. We had a brief dinner, and then I got the idea of writing this down, to amuse myself and to test my story-writing skills… because I always liked writing stories!

"Wow… " Sam flipped the page and found a sequel.

April 4. This morning we set out for the countryside in my car. Jim used his father's documents to get us to the desired place. When we were at some distance away, the exact view of the painting was there before my sight, in real colors and elements, except for the dead man. We told the farmers that we are journalists and they were hospitable. As we approached the destination farm, we saw his owner.

"Hello, good morning…" said Jim who was preceding me.

"Good morning, Mr."

"Simmons… we are here to do a simple article about your little neighborhood. I hope you are ok with it."

"Aha! We love those things… come on sir, get into my humble hut over there." He pointed toward the small house on the hill. "We live in a peaceful but a hard world, as you can see…"

The man was so friendly and we spent the whole day in the meadows & the neighboring hills. The hut was on the foot of a hill, which was looking over a small valley below. The good weather and the untainted nature there helped to relax me a lot. At the evening, the man generously insisted that we spend the night at his hut. Jim was waiting for such a chance. After the dinner, he asked the man: "Did you get this farm from your father?"

"Yes, and he got it from his father and so on, you know."

"Well, do you have a relative who have participated in the civil war?"

Jim's question was direct and sudden. The man seemed a little surprised and his look changed.

"No, but one of my grandfathers was murdered in the civil war… can I know why do you ask?"

Jim was slightly confused, so I made the answer: "No particular reason, we just wanted to know if this region was involved in the civil war, for the article you know…"

The man was a little relieved by my answer. He hesitated a little before talking.

"Ok, I did not want to say it, but since you mentioned it, I'll tell you this story. Years ago, a middle-aged strange man from the town came here. He said that he was lost and he came to my house. He also asked me about the civil war. When I told him about my late grandfather, he started to describe him for me… he described him as being a tall, giant man with one eye, and he was right! I asked him how he could know that, but he did not answer. Instead, he suddenly went out to ride his car and he drove along. He was not far yet when the car started to swing from one side to another, as if he was dodging something, despite that the road was empty. I heard him shouting something and then he crashed into a tree. That accident took his life. The whole thing was so weird. Maybe he was just insane but I don't know how he knew my grandfather… and now you are asking me about the civil war again…"

As he was talking, Jim was getting paler and paler. Even I could not hide my confusion. Since Jim was obviously speechless, I had to do the talk again.

"No, sir, don't worry… we are not crazy and we know nothing about your grandfather…"

The man laughed and said "I didn't say that, but you just reminded me of a similar situation. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go to bed. Let me show you the way to your room, and have a good night!"

When the man left us in our room, Jim was still silent and in distress. Finally he said: "I can't believe that this man was the last one who saw my father alive! Tom, my father had actually killed himself… this man might be the reason!" He started to get more agitated.

"Jim, calm down… please. It's the one-eyed man who killed your dad, not this poor man!"

"The one-eyed man is dead for God's sake! What am I supposed to do now?"

"There is something wrong… just try to cool down and think logically, Jim. Maybe it was only a coincidence…"

He did not say anything. He just shut off the light and lied on his humble bed, and so did I, then I sat to write this on the light of a small candle… may God help us!

Sam turned the page again. It was badly written this time and carried no date…

There is no way… this has to be explained! I woke up at midnight, to find Jim disappeared! I looked for him anywhere but in vain. His cellphone was turned off. I got out of the farmer's hut, and without thinking, I ran directly to the stony edge of the hill, which was not far. On the light of the torch, I saw a body, lying there deep in the valley… Jim! I rushed back to my car and drove it all the way back here, to the apartment. There is a terrible thing with that place… definitely. Jim thought that it was just him and his family, but he was wrong! He wants me dead, too! I can't do anything… anymore…

There was no sequel this time. "What does this mean? What happened to Tom after that?" Sam was wondering and his anxiety began to rise up. "Maybe this is the diary of some sick psycho… anyway I'm gonna ask Mr. Berry in the morning." After a bad night, Sam went directly to the building supervisor, Mr. Berry. He asked him about Tom Walters.

"Oh my God that man! He lived here last year. I think he has had a mental shock in his last days…"

"Last days?"

"Yes, unfortunately he died here! In his last few days, he seemed very anxious and unstable. He had a roommate who was in a similar state like him. One day, at the dawn time, the little boy awakened me, saying that he had found Tom sleeping in the hallway alone and there may be a problem, so I went up to check. Tom was not sleeping, but rather lying down on the floor with his eyes staring at his apartment's door. I'll never forget that scene, he was the pure picture of misery. At the moment he saw me, he jumped up shouting "Stay away from me!" I stepped forward but he suddenly ran away crazily. I followed him trying to know what was wrong, then he climbed up the stairs to the roof. Here, I stopped and did not follow him, but my fears became real when he threw himself from the roof… to the street! Even his roommate had vanished. It was one of the rare tragedies that took place here."

Sam was looking at the man as he was speaking. He was quite tall and heavily built…

"But why do you ask, Sam?"

"Nothing… I just heard about him… but can I ask you something Mr. Berry?"

"Sure."

"Why do you wear black glasses?"

"Oh! I lost one of my eyes in an accident a couple of years ago, but I get used to it. My wife says that I look really scary when I don't wear them, huh!"

"Hmm… ok… thanks."

Sam quickly returned to the apartment, and he stood in the middle of the room. "So all that had really happened here." He thought for a long while, then he went to the kitchen. Once he passed by the flowers' vase, he noticed something unusual. He turned to it to see that it was filled with a red liquid… he turned his eyes toward the counter to see a big knife, soaked with blood… it was slowly dribbling, a drop after another, apparently forever…

_**((End))**_

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